Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

I t was hard not to feel satisfaction at the surprise on the Duke’s face. Despite it all, it seemed he was still expecting her to try her best to back out of their arrangement.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I would have hated to tell the world just why I chose to expose the Marquess in such a dramatic way.”

She tilted her head. “Resorting to blackmail? Really? After I agreed to your terms? It’s weak stuff, Your Grace, weak stuff.”

His gaze narrowed. “Well, what about you, then? If I am so very unimpressive, my dear, why did you agree so easily to my proposal? Why not live a merry, free life as a spinster, and damn me and my threats to hell?”

Beatrice hesitated, biting her lip. The truth was, it was her father’s words that had driven her there.

“We shall have to find Beatrice another match—any match—as soon as we can, let me tell you. We cannot afford to be picky anymore.”

Whatever that meant, or whatever vague threat it alluded to, Beatrice was not willing to wait around and find out. Her father had just about sold her off once, and it was more likely than ever that he would do it again.

She could not afford to wait and see what happened. If the Duke stuck to his side of the rules—and strangely enough, Beatrice thought that he would—then she would lead a comfortable and reasonably safe life. Besides, he would destroy her next wedding if she refused.

“With our agreement, I shall live the life of a spinster anyway,” she responded. “Now. Did you say you wished me to sign something?”

He kept his gaze trained on her, placing the list of rules flat on the table, and gestured to a quill and inkwell.

“Be my guest, Miss Haversham. If we are about to become engaged, perhaps I might call you Beatrice .”

“Perhaps you might.”

She grabbed the quill, pausing only to double-check that he hadn’t added anything to the list of rules—aside from her requirements, of course—and then signed her name with a flourish.

There. It is done. At least I am able to sign away my own fate. Many ladies don’t have the same opportunity.

She moved to replace the quill in the inkwell but abruptly found that the Duke’s hand shot forward, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist. She flinched, her eyes widening, and met his intense green gaze.

His cool grip was not particularly tight, but neither could she pull away from him.

To her horror, tingles spread across her skin, gooseflesh rising on her arms at his touch. She was aware of his fingertips on her hand in a way she had not experienced with any other touch before, and some unfamiliar sensation coiled in her gut.

A sort of wanting .

Beatrice realized, to her growing worry, that she wanted him to continue touching her.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “You made the right decision, I think.”

Beatrice’s mouth was dry, and her throat bobbed when she swallowed. When had he leaned so close to her, close enough for her to smell petrichor and cologne, close enough to see golden flecks in his green eyes and observe the curve of his full lips, which were twisted into an insufferable smirk?

It didn’t matter.

With effort, Beatrice wrenched her hand free. The quill clattered onto the table, scattering ink drops.

“I am neither good nor a girl, Your Grace,” she said dryly, rising to her feet before her legs could become so jelly-like she could no longer stand. “I’m a woman, and I’d thank you to remember it.”

The Duke leaned back in his seat, his arms hanging over the armrests, his legs stretched out in front of him, and eyed her speculatively.

“I’m unlikely to forget it, I think,” he murmured, and she had the impression he was talking to himself. “We are engaged, then?”

She adjusted the folds of her cloak, wishing her heart would stop hammering. “It seems so.”

“Then I shall write to your father directly and inform him.”

“Some gentlemen would write to ask for his permission.”

He grinned. “I’m not in the habit of asking politely for what I want, my dear. And you’re of age, are you not? You don’t require his permission.”

“No, but I would like his blessing.”

The Duke grunted. Whether that was an agreement or a dismissal, she was not sure. It would not make much difference, after all.

“I shall organize the wedding,” he said abruptly. “And obtain a special license. It shouldn’t take long.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I think I would like to go home now.”

There was a tap at the door just as she spoke, and the tall butler appeared, even though Beatrice was quite sure that nobody had rung the bell to summon him.

“Ah, Mouse, there you are,” the Duke said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “Impeccable timing. Miss Haversham is leaving, would you show her out?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Oh, and you might as well be the first to know, Mouse. I am very nearly an engaged man.”

The butler raised his eyebrows, not seeming surprised in the slightest. “My felicitations, Your Grace.”

The Duke waved a hand towards Beatrice. “Let me introduce the woman who will soon be the Duchess of Blackwood.”

Mouse eyed her calculatedly, and Beatrice wanted to sink into the ground at that moment.

“My congratulations, Miss Haversham. Shall I show you out?”

Beatrice tumbled into the carriage, and very nearly landed on the cloaked woman huddled in the corner.

She gave a muffled shriek, but the coachman slammed the door shut behind her, seemingly oblivious.

“Ouch,” Anna complained, pushing her cloak off of her.

Flustered, Beatrice tossed a strand of hair from her face. “What are you doing, Anna? You nearly scared the life out of me. Why are you here? How did you get here?”

“It’s my carriage,” Anna retorted. “It was easy enough to order the coachman to come back home and collect me after dropping you off. Do you really think I’d allow you to come and visit Stephen , of all people, without checking up on you?”

“If you’re trying to save my reputation, I must inform you that it’s too late,” Beatrice snapped. She knocked on the roof of the carriage, and the vehicle lurched forward.

“I’m not here for that. I’m here to tell you that striking a bargain with Stephen is never worth it. He requires too much in return, and having him know things about you is like making a deal with the Devil.”

Beatrice bit her lip, looking away. “You seem very uncharitable. Isn’t he your husband’s dearest friend?”

“Yes, he is, and while Stephen is fond of Theo, I can warn you now that he is not fond of anyone else.” Anna leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Stephen had all ordinary human feelings knocked out of him at a very young age. He is full of hate and anger and resentment, and he is frankly a dangerous man. I would never have let you strike any bargain with him if I had known about it.”

“Well, it’s too late now.”

“No, Beatrice, it is not! Whatever he has roped you into, it can be undone. I can help you undo it. He cannot be trusted. Other women have thought they could make a hole in his heart before, and they were proved wrong again and again.”

“And why should I succeed when they have failed. Is that what you’re saying?” Beatrice snapped.

Anna sighed, leaning back. “Don’t be so prickly. I am not saying that, Beatrice. I am saying that he is not capable of love. I am sure of it.”

“Well, would it make you feel better to know that I am not trying to make him love me? In fact, love is very much off the table. He was very clear about that.”

There was a brief silence after that.

“Beatrice,” Anna said carefully. “What agreement have you made with him?”

“The one I told you about. I am going to marry him, Anna.”

“Oh, Beatrice, no! You can’t do that.”

“What should I do?” Beatrice retorted, feeling anger surge up inside her. “Try and convince our friend Henry to marry me? Henry, who has never looked longingly at a woman in his life? Ought I blackmail him or pressure him into agreeing to a marriage he has no interest in, only to have him jilt me at the altar? I already had one ruined wedding—I’m not sure I can manage another.”

She knew she was speaking out of turn. Anna was only trying to be kind, and bringing up the chaos that had broken out before she married Theo—Henry’s brother, no less—was nothing short of cruel. Anna’s scandal rivaled Beatrice’s own, since a jilted bride was the sort of story that the ton adored .

So long as they or their loved ones were not the ones being jilted, of course.

Anna flinched and turned towards the window. The dim light meant that her face was shadowed, and Beatrice could not read her expression.

They sat in stony silence for a minute or two, until Beatrice nervously cleared her throat.

“I am sorry, Anna. I don’t know why I said any of that. I only meant… Look, I only meant that I am in a bad situation, and marrying the Duke is a reasonable way out, just like you married Theo.”

“It is not the same,” Anna responded distantly. “And I would have helped you, Beatrice. You know that. You only had to ask.”

They were reaching Beatrice’s street now. She could see her house in the distance, the windows mercifully dark. Her absence had not been noticed, then.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice repeated.

Nerves jittered inside her, not allowing her to sit still. There was plenty of regret in there, too. Would things have been different if she’d trusted her old friend? Most likely. Apologies meant little, since the damage was already done.

The carriage rolled to a halt.

“You’re decided, then?” Anna said, sounding more tired than ever.

Beatrice swallowed, nodding tightly.

“Then there is nothing I can say, I suppose. I only hope you know what you’re doing, Beatrice.”

The coachman pulled open the carriage door. Beatrice opened her mouth, trying to think of something, anything she could say that would make things better, something beyond her bland apologies.

Nothing came to mind.

“Goodnight,” she said weakly and climbed out of the carriage. It rattled away, leaving her standing alone on the dark street.

Beatrice stood there, watching her friend disappear into the darkness, and wondered whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

“I wish you would stop yawning, Beatrice,” Horatio complained. “You went to bed before ten o’clock last night. You cannot possibly be tired.”

Beatrice clenched her jaw against the yawn and said nothing.

Breakfast was a tense affair. The heated words they’d all exchanged only the other day still hung in the air. Helena was not at the table—she’d taken to having breakfast in bed, and lying in later and later—and John barely breathed a word, keeping his gaze fixed on his plate and saying nothing.

I should tell them, Beatrice thought, more than once. I should warn them.

The idea of a warning felt a little strange, though. Engagements were supposed to be happy events, weren’t they?

However, Beatrice could not shake the idea that all of this was some sort of wild dream. She’d thought as much when she first woke up, lying in bed and trying to work out whether she had really gone to the Duke of Blackwood’s house and signed his rather scandalous list of rules.

A quick glance at her old cloak, which was tossed over her dressing table where she’d left it, convinced her that it had happened. Along with the memory came back the uneasy recollection of how she’d spoken to Anna.

I must apologize. She lent me her carriage without question, and then only tried to help me. I already hid my problems from her, and then I reminded her about all that business with Henry.

I’m an awful friend.

Part of Beatrice did not believe that the ‘engagement’ would ever materialize. Really, why would a man like the Duke want to marry her? Perhaps he did have a horrendous reputation, but if he were to propose, just about any woman in Society would accept. And a good many of them would likely agree to his nonsensical rules, too.

Perhaps not the rule about no children. Most ladies dream of babies and children, and cannot ever imagine a life without them.

And why would a duke be so determined not to continue his line? It’s odd.

Yes, the more Beatrice thought about it, the more she was sure that the Duke would reconsider his offer. After all, what did a verbal agreement and a signature on a piece of paper mean?

The butler came in, bearing a silver platter with a pile of letters on it. There was one for Beatrice, with Anna’s handwriting on the front, and a handful for Horatio. He took them, muttering to himself, and tossed Beatrice’s letter on the table.

“I have another business partner,” he announced quite suddenly. “He is interested in investing, and he wasn’t at all put off by that business with the Marquess. He is interested in you too, Beatrice.”

Beatrice swallowed. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know him, but I will arrange an introduction soon enough. I’m afraid he’s not a member of the ton—but that hardly matters now. He is a rather dull gentleman, even I can admit that, and widowed twice, but he is looking for a new wife to manage his children and help with his estate. I believe it could be a good match for you.”

Beatrice stared at her father in horror. “You must be joking, Papa.”

“I am not. You have few enough prospects now, girl. We need to get you married. If Jane’s husband would only bestir himself and try and help us, then perhaps?—”

“Edward is grieving, Papa,” Beatrice interrupted sharply. “Don’t be unkind.”

Before more words could be exchanged, the butler slipped back into the room, holding a package wrapped in brown paper.

“Forgive me, but this also came for you, Miss Haversham,” he said apologetically, holding it out to Beatrice. “It ought to have been brought up with the letters.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Beatrice responded, blinking.

It was unusual for her to receive parcels in the morning, to be sure. Swallowing, she began to tear off the paper, already half-aware of what the parcel would be.

“ A Noble Guide To Botany ,” John read aloud, craning his neck to see the book. “I didn’t know you were interested in plants, Beatrice.”

“I…” she stammered, not quite able to form words.

Glancing over at her father, Beatrice saw that he had opened the envelope with the largest wax seal. The spiky handwriting on the envelope was shockingly familiar, and with a rush, Beatrice knew what was in that letter.

Horatio’s lips twitched as he read, and he dragged his incredulous gaze from the paper to his daughter.

“This letter is from the Duke of Blackwood, Beatrice,” he said, sounding almost comically baffled. “He… he seeks my blessing to marry you.”

John made a muffled noise. Beatrice felt as though all of the air had been knocked out of her lungs, and she opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

Horatio continued reading, looking pale enough to faint.

“He said that he has already made you a proposal and that you have accepted. Is… is that true, Beatrice?”

Beatrice swallowed hard. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “Yes, it is true.”

Her father fell off his chair.